


You Say It Best (When You Say Nothing At All)

by nobetterlove



Series: If Ever I Fall [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bottom Peter Parker, Boys In Love, Deaf Character, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Slice of Life, Tony Stark Feels, Top Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28560519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobetterlove/pseuds/nobetterlove
Summary: Peter Parker doesn't like the subway, but relents when he gets a job with the New York Philharmonic. The gig he's been waiting for all his life is definitely worth an early morning ride. Things go from good to not so much when a stranger takes Peter's coveted seat - every Monday morning. It doesn't take long for Peter to confront him, only to find out that people aren't always what they seem.Or - the one where Peter and Tony learn what love really is.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: If Ever I Fall [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124555
Comments: 3
Kudos: 122





	You Say It Best (When You Say Nothing At All)

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy, guys! This was originally a tumblr prompt based off of the quote "you say it best". In typical me fashion, I took to music for inspiration. 
> 
> I spent many years of college learning about speech and speech pathology, so ASL and interpersonal communication between hearing and non-hearing individuals is right up my alley. It's always a joy to visit my roots. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

It all started with a monumental misunderstanding. 

For most of college, Peter got away with never riding the subway. His home-grown roots and the steady cliché personified by practically every move based in New York left a dirty taste in his mouth about the underground motor system – a part of him didn’t want to admit that they scared him (just a little). For the 6 years he diligently attended Tisch’s music program, Peter lived close enough to avoid any sort of transportation aside from the use of his own two legs. 

Staying in the city, Peter should’ve figured that he would inevitably need to ride the subway some time or another – taking a taxi was a total no-no and not everywhere could be reached by bike. Of course, that predestined time finally made itself apparent when the New York Philharmonic came calling – after years of practice, performance, and gritting his teeth against the teasing, Peter was finally realizing his dream; and, ironically, getting himself a subway pass. 

Despite the weird fear he harbored for all of his existence in the city, Peter found his rides on the subway to be pretty calm and easy. Having to grab the earliest train, Peter realized that there were good and bad times of the day to be catching a subway. He sent up a little word of thanks when his usual car stayed relatively empty for the third week in a row. His trusty seat by the window with just enough space to fit his saxophone case stayed empty and ready for him every day. Life was good. 

Until it didn’t – and then suddenly life wasn’t that good again. 

For the first time in weeks, Peter got onto the subway and immediately found himself frowning. His usual seat was rudely occupied with someone completely new, the curly brown hair of the man both flattering and unkempt. Attempting to be cool about it, Peter stealthily glared daggers over at the individual, his frustration for the break in his routine bubbling just barely under the surface. 

Determined to speak up for himself the next day, Peter got on his train to find his seat once again empty, the man from yesterday nowhere to be found. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, Peter quickly took his seat – the need for sameness overcoming the curiosity the brunette man from the previous day stirred up in him; he wanted to be frustrated by him, not attracted to the honey color his dark brown hair changed to when it caught the light. 

Things stayed normal for the rest of the week – every morning, Peter prepared himself for a turf battle, and every morning, he found himself a little bit disappointed that his seat competition wasn’t there to both look gorgeous and be frustrating in Peter’s self-proclaimed space. 

Boarding the subway a week from that first encounter, Peter was once again caught off guard by the same man sitting innocently in his seat. Though the man couldn’t know how much drama he was causing him, Peter felt his anger boiling up again, the idea of not sitting in the usual place grating against the already abysmal feeling of a Monday morning. By the time he worked himself up enough to actually talk to the other man, his seat was conspicuously empty. In his brooding, Peter missed his opportunity – he cursed himself of the lost chance, then quickly took the seat so no one else could ruin his everyday routine. 

After the fourth week of the Monday seat-napping occurrence, Peter felt fed up and impulsively followed the man off the subway when they got to his usual stop. Realizing how creepy it was that he watched the stranger enough to know when his prime opportunity would be, Peter almost stopped himself from pursuit, his feet hesitating a few seconds before his frustration won out. Gritting his teeth, Peter shook his head and continued to follow. 

When the foot traffic brought them together, Peter reached out and grabbed the man’s shoulder – his touch light, despite the aggression of the move to begin with. He kept himself from blowing up until they were facing each other – then let shit loose. 

As he spoke and gestured wildly, Peter noticed the man’s expression moved from surprised to confused pretty fast. His eyebrows were pinched, both eyes attempting (in vain) to watch the way his lips moved. It wasn’t until he saw the man shuffling that he stopped his fast talking (should be read yelling) and paused to take a well needed breath. 

All of a sudden, Peter saw the man pull his gloves from his fingers, the thought of getting punched at the forefront of his mind, before noticing that those very fingers were moving a mile a minute. He remembered just enough from his freshman sign language class to recognize the ASL but was lost after that. The stranger continued to gesture before a grin randomly broke out across his face. Peter figured his own facial expression was worth the stranger’s smirk. 

An obviously underused voice sounded in his ears next, Peter’s face dropping again, a rush of a deep blush rushing to his face at the words that were spoken from the stranger’s mouth. “I can tell you’re confused. It sucks not being able to understand someone, doesn’t it?” Though the man was talking, his fingers gestured with each word – the man obviously more comfortable with his hands than with spoken dialect. 

Letting go of a very embarrassed breath, Peter let his eyes fall to his shoes, apprehension and shame filling up the space between them. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Not just for not knowing that you’re deaf, but for yelling at you at all.” He stopped then, the realization of his words hitting him square in the chest. The guy standing in front of him was deaf, and he was still talking at him a mile a minute. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I – you probably don’t even know what I’m saying.” 

The man let his grin grow at that, a look of amusement fresh in honey-hazel eyes. “I can read lips, actually. You’re very emotive.” 

A beat of silence rested between them before the slightly scratchy voice sounded again. “I’m Tony.” The man – Tony, pointed to himself, his hands fingerspelling as he introduced himself. 

Peter couldn’t keep the smile from blooming across his lips, eyes twinkling as he finger spelt his own name back, those specific letters close to the extent of his ASL knowledge. “I’m Peter. And insanely embarrassed by my behavior. Can I buy you a coffee to make up for it?” 

Tony’s answering beam made Peter’s stomach lurch, the heat settling there unlike anything he felt before. It took a lot of effort to push it down, even more so when Tony nodded, his eyes twinkling with mirth and interest. 

As one could expect, it took them a few minutes to really master talking with each other.

After getting the affirmative, Peter tucked his head and started to trudge towards the nearest coffee shop – Tony’s usual stop was only two away from his own, so the turf felt relatively familiar. He wandered these streets often between his morning and afternoon rehearsals – enough to know about the cute little hole in the wall with the best espresso. His feet led them there easily, Peter only looking back over his shoulder twice to make sure Tony was still there, following closely on his heels. 

Peter let Tony deal with ordering for himself, then stepped up and added his own triple shot espresso to the ticket – his bank card coming out faster than it ever had before. A simple cup of coffee was the least he could do; it wasn’t often people got yelled at by random strangers on the street. 

For such an awkward way of meeting, Tony took everything in stride. He too must’ve been a regular at the coffee shop – Tony stood in what looked like his usual spot and waited patiently for the barista to slip the cup in front of him, instead of yelling out his name like she did for every other patron. 

In his observation, Peter noticed Tony’s way of speaking without saying anything at all. He smiled widely and allowed his eyes to do a lot of his talking, the deep color of them just as animated as the looks being cast about. Though he gestured with his hands often, Tony adapted to those around him easily, the man quick to find a way to get his point across. 

When they sat down across from each other, Peter took a sip of his drink before even thinking to speak – the thought of his undercaffeinated mind causing him any more drama a very real worry.

The coffee did its job a couple of moments later, Peter’s insides warming suspiciously like they did when he saw Tony smile for the first time. Brushing that thought aside, Peter let his eyes roam over Tony, the man still sitting there patiently, his patented grin pulling at lips that looked to be way too kissable for their own good. He let his eyes stay there for a moment before clearing his throat, unusual nervousness washing over him.

Much to his surprise, Peter felt a hand on his own before he could get any words out. His eyes bulged for a second at the weird feeling of rightness that overcame him – Tony’s tan hands were calloused and covered in what looked to be paint or marker. Interesting, even down to his very hands. 

“Don’t be nervous. I can get five words out of ten and keep up pretty well if you don’t start yelling at me like you were. I don’t expect you to know how to sign and these” he said, gesturing at the hearing aids Peter hadn’t even noticed, “help muddle through the vibration of your words. I’m probably a better listener than you are.” Tony flashed him his eyebrows at that, his amusement at the entire situation written so plainly on his face. 

Blushing, Peter nodded, his gaze averting for a second to collect himself. Though they weren’t touching anymore, Peter could feel the pressure on his skin, Tony’s kindly spoken words wrapping the rest of him up so peculiarly. From being a complete ass to totally smitten, Peter wasn’t sure what was happening to him – what the man in front of him could do to him just by being an admirable person. 

“You’re probably right about that. The only thing I really like to listen to is music. And that’s usually just to make sure I don’t miss my own cues when I’m playing.” 

Tony’s eyes lit up at that, his hands making the sign for music without much thought. “You’re a musician? What do you play?” His eyes glowed with earnest; a genuine interest written clearly in his gaze. 

“I’m the second seat saxophone for the New York Philharmonic. I usually play the alto, but I fill in on the bass line when the pieces demand more of a commanding sound. I’d prefer to play the bass, actually – much more my style.” 

“I played the tympany for a while in high school, if you can believe it. Percussion gives off the best vibrations.” Tony mimicked playing the instrument, his hands holding the pretend mallets the same way he would’ve if the percussion was actually sitting there. Peter let himself feel a little giddy at that – music was his life; sharing the passion for it felt good for a change. The usual forced enjoyment of his colleagues could be so grating, but Tony – Tony made it feel novel, like it used to before performing became a job. 

“I was too small for the drums when they were distributing instruments in sixth grade. I was lucky to have landed the saxophone instead of the flute.” 

Conversation flowed easily between them after that. 

Tony fumbled every now and again, the quirk of his brow causing Peter to slow down or back up to make his words clearer. Aside from that, their conversation didn’t falter. Peter eagerly sussed out that Tony was an artist that worked in graphic design, the dark marker on his fingers making sense as he dug into his bag and pulled out his latest work. The blue on his fingers matched the lid of the tracing marker stuck in the middle of Tony’s book of art. His eyes lit up as he gestured and pointed at the different pieces of the work – Tony’s energy and enjoyment insanely intoxicating. 

By the time Peter’s ‘oh shit’ alarm went off, they were deep in conversation about the difference between Marvel and DC’s comic prowess, Tony more interested in the art than Peter and his character driven preferences. Looking up as he shut the alarm off, Peter gestured to his phone, the screen still alive and bright. 

“I’ve got to go, but I’d love to get your number.” Peter pushed the phone towards Tony, his cheeks warm from the hope and want of a nice conversation and obvious chemistry. 

Tony pulled the phone towards him, his pointer finger tracing the edge of Peter’s case. “You can have it, under one condition.” 

Peter quirked his brow at that, his head rising in recognition. “Sure, what is it?” 

“Tell me why you were yelling at me.”

Blushing more furiously, Peter let his hand drift to the back of his neck, the nervous gesture one he picked up after having the shoulder harness on during hours of playing. “It’s kind of stupid – but you were in my seat. Have been, every Monday, for the past few weeks.” 

The oddest sound fell from Tony’s lips, the soundless laugh choked off like the chuff of a dog without a voice box. The joy in it sent a shiver down Peter’s spine, his face splitting into a grin, despite the raging embarrassment that lashed at his skin. 

“I knew it. I kept taking it after that first week just to see what you’d do. You’re something else, Peter.” 

And though he wasn’t the most familiar with ASL, Peter knew Tony’s parting gesture was something affectionately close to the one used to call someone an idiot. 

For a while, the bulk of their conversation existed through the realm of text messages. Having just got into performance season, Peter didn’t have a lot of in-person time to spare. Between rehearsals and practice concerts, there wasn’t much time to function normally, let alone nurture a new courtship – so, they made do. 

Most mornings, Peter woke up to some sort of text message from Tony. From little things like quips about the weather to snippets and sneak previews of his latest drawings and commissions. No matter what he opened up, Peter came to enjoy whatever Tony Stark sent his way.

The messages continued throughout the day, usually Tony narrating a zoom meeting, or talking mad shit about the neighbor who lived across the hall from him (based on her comings and goings, Tony swore the older woman was a British spy). There was always something to respond to between songs and stints of rehearsal – the idea of not being alone more than welcome after spending entire pieces and concerts in the depths of his music space, that section of his brain lonely now that Peter knew what good company felt like. 

It was almost weird, then, when Peter found himself with a couple nights off after the hustle and bustle of the city’s celebration of Christmas. Aside from his New Year’s obligations, Peter was finally free to spend a little time with Tony in person. So free, in fact, that he found himself brushing up on a few rudimentary signs before meeting up with him. 

When the day finally came, Peter felt the slightest bit of apprehension. They were surprising, the nerves – for all intents and purposes, Peter spent the last three months in constant communication with Tony. When they weren’t texting, they were sending pictures through snapchat, their multitude of faces saying so much more than words between them ever really could. 

Maybe that was it – the rightness of the thing between them. Having never experienced it before, Peter couldn’t decide if it was the greatest thing to happen to him, or the weirdest experience of his life. Not growing up with his own parents made it hard to understand connection – especially the guttural, natural kind that usually came from the relationship between parents and child. Most of his relationships served a purpose, but his thing with Tony only brought him joy and excitement; a feeling so foreign, he wasn’t really sure what to do with it. 

Putting it all away, Peter did his best to shake off the nerves – the least he could do was give whatever it was between him and Tony a chance. They were so good together in so many ways. He could practically feel Tony in each of his text messages, the man good at choosing his words to make the most maximum of impact. There was a connection that wouldn’t exist if Tony didn’t have to spend so much time trying to understand the rest of the world – Peter didn’t understand himself, but Tony luckily seemed to; so much that Peter learned a thing or two every now and again.

Despite it all, Peter felt whatever negative feelings within him completely dissipate when Tony answered his door. They figured the best way to really spend some quality time together was for one of them to cook, an action that Tony took upon himself without hesitation (the face Peter made when Tony brought up the idea probably had something to do with that, but Peter sure as hell wasn’t going to point that out). The other man’s smile was genuine and if the smells wafting from the apartment were anything to go by, the food was going to be insanely delicious, too. 

Before he could psyche himself out of it, Peter drew Tony into a quick hug, then let his fingers fly. “It’s nice to see you again,” Peter said with his hands, his lip drawn between his teeth the entire time. 

Letting out a soft gasp, Tony lit up, his grin dimpling with its intensity. He took a step forward, his own hands reaching out to grab Peter’s. “You’ve been practicing. That greeting has its own sign,” Tony babbled proudly, their arms moving together through the correct movement. “Lazier, but more recognizable.” 

Peter felt himself melt into the touch, the thought of not getting his attempt right flying from his brain the second Tony gripped him. The warmth that radiated from Tony’s chest pulled him in, their innocent embrace bringing him an unnamable happiness. 

Just as that thought started to settle, Tony released him, a knowing look sitting between the crease of his brows. “Come in, come in. Want to sit for a drink? The stuff on the stove still needs a few minutes to simmer.” Now that he was aware of Peter’s practice, Tony used his hands with every word, the signs a lot slower than the last time they muddled through conversation. 

Peter followed Tony over to the small bar in the corner of the room, his presence more than enough of an answer for the other man, who was already pouring them a dense finger of what looked like amazing whiskey. After passing Peter his, Tony raised his glass for a toast – his eyes practically glowing. “To new things,” Tony said, his voice clear and filled with warmth – more than likely affection, too. 

Clanking their glasses together, Peter ducked his head – the entire situation between them so new, and yet, so damn familiar all at once. 

By the time they nursed their first drink, a blinking light at the entrance of the kitchen caught Tony’s attention, his body springing to action before Peter even recognized what could possibly be going on. Tony shot him a smile, his hands already moving. “I can’t hear the buzzer on the oven, so the light tells me when it’s going off.” 

A flush moved over Peter’s skin, the simplicity of the explanation making him feel a little silly – in all of his time as a human, he never gave any thought to the things he used on a daily basis, how some people couldn’t use the things that seemed so simple and normal to him. Like every second of his time with Tony, Peter felt both out of his depth and completely mystified to constant be learning new, eye-opening things. 

As he initially thought, Tony’s cooking was absolutely excellent. They ate at a small table in the corner of Tony’s kitchen, the room well equipped, the space an obvious lifeline of the apartment.

“I spend a lot of time in here,” Tony mumbled around the chicken parmesan in his mouth. His eyes caught Peter’s, the glance saying just how tuned in to his thoughts Tony actually was. “The kitchen has the best light for drawing – and I love to cook.” He enunciated the last word with a sign, his fingers deft in their movement. 

“I can tell. Everything is amazing. You even cooked fresh pasta!” He twirled a noodle around his fork for emphasis, the freshness of it apparent even then.

“It’s a way to connect. Cooking. I’m not the best communicator – but I sure as heck know how to get my point across.” 

Those words sat with Peter for the rest of dinner, and well into the after dessert making out they were doing on Tony’s insanely comfortable couch.

Peter didn’t hesitate to close the distance between them when Tony led them back into the living room, a drink in each of their hands. As they sat down and put their crystal glasses on the coffee table, Tony slung his arm around the back of the couch, Peter allowing himself to narrow the distance and absorb all the points of contact on offer. Like magnets, their lips found each other, the firm press of Tony’s against his own like the rest of him – pure, genuine, and upfront. In all things, Tony was upfront. 

Straddled across Tony’s lap a little while later, Peter broke their kiss, the softest noise of confusion sounding in the room around them. Unable to decipher who made it, Peter quieted them both by climbing up and off Tony, his hands pulling the man up with him. “Will you show me your bedroom?” Peter needlessly asked as their lips sealed together in a chaste kiss, both unable to stay separated for too long. 

Instead of answering, Tony gripped Peter’s hips and pulled him close, their bodies pressed flush together. Breaking the kiss, Tony used his hold to guide Peter back, the two of them stumbling in the awkward dance of too many limbs and not enough space all the way down the hall and into a well decorated bedroom. 

A gigantic king-sized mattress took up much of the room, a large wooden bedframe outlining it and making the feel of it grand, almost eye-pulling. Crisp maroon sheets were jumbled in the middle of it, as if Tony didn’t make his bed after rolling from it earlier that morning (he didn’t), and an avalanche of pillows took up the head of it, the collective feeling of fluffiness making a rush of affection sneak into his chest. Tony liked to be comfortable, that much was obvious. 

The softest touch against his cheek brought Peter back from the vortex of his thoughts, Tony’s questioning gaze warm in its inquiry. Calloused fingers brushed over the meat of his cheek, the caress pulling a moan from his lips. 

“Is this okay? I really want you, but you look a little nervous,” Tony said softly, the words kind of jumbled against the skin of Peter’s neck where lips were worrying endlessly.

Moving suddenly, Peter grabbed Tony’s cheeks, his grip just enough to bring Tony’s focus back to Peter’s face, the need for his smile to be seen more important than the physical arousal coursing through him. “I am nervous. You mean a lot to me. I don’t – want to fuck this up. I want you, Tony. I do – I want you so much.” He spoke slowly, each word important, each one needing to be heard more than anything else. 

“You can’t fuck it up. I’m here. Right here, Pete.” Tony pulled back enough to make the sign he chose for Peter’s name – a finger spelt P followed by the unmistakable sign for beautiful. “You can have me. It’s okay.” 

Not a lot of words were shared after that. Peter gave in to the chemistry that roared between them, his hands making deft work of Tony’s shirt, then his own before there was nothing left between them but the slightly graying hair on Tony’s chest. In eager exploration, Peter ran his fingers down the length of Tony’s stomach, up his sides, and across soft lips – his hands for once doing all the talking for him. 

Settling back against the bed, Peter felt Tony take the same path across his skin, his fingertips and nails followed shortly by tongue, lips, and teeth. By the time Tony made it down to his cock, Peter was hypersensitive, each one of Tony’s touches feeling like a shock to his core. So distracted by the goodness of it all, Peter didn’t notice the opening of a drawer, or the subtle click of the top of the lube opening. It wasn’t until the combination of warm lips around his cock and cold fingers pressing against his rim, that Peter realized Tony was moving things along – eagerly, if the desperate thrusts against his leg were to say anything. 

Before pressing any further forward, Tony used his free hand to sign “okay?” in the cutest of ways. Peter was splayed open wide, on display like a fucking meal, and Tony still wanted to make sure. The thought struck him to the core. Shaking the immensity of it away, Peter nodded, his eyes slipping closed as Tony redoubled his efforts. 

One finger quickly became two, Tony methodically pressing in and spreading his fingers to test the stretch and give of Peter’s rim. He found Peter’s prostate pretty early on, the tip of his middle finger hitting it within the first few strokes of his fingers pressed into tight heat. The constant pressure and immense fullness kept him from spiraling over the edge – but just barely. 

Sliding a hand into Tony’s hair, Peter gripped the locks tightly, his fingertips digging into the soft scalp below. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to make a mess.” Peter let himself pant out a few breaths, a few pulses of pre-cum dripping with each word. “Please, I’m ready. I’m ready, Tony.” 

He wasn’t sure if Tony saw the words coming out of his mouth, but he moved like he did – his body completely in tune with Peter, like each movement Peter made was another page in the instruction manual, another thing for Tony to categorize and use for the rest of time.

A displeased noise left his lips when Tony pulled his fingers out, the feeling of emptiness both uncomfortable and unsatisfying now that Peter knew just how good Tony felt inside him. The emptiness didn’t last for long, though – Tony drew back just enough to tear open the condom with his teeth, the rubber going down over his cock quicker than Peter thought it could. His last rational thought revolved around the opening of the lube cap and the slightly cold press of a warm tip to his most intimate place. 

Inch by inch, Tony pressed himself inside, the obvious pulse of his cock enough to force Peter to relax – he wanted to feel every part of the other man, all of his twitches and throbs included. When he finally bottomed out, Peter grabbed Tony’s face, forcing his eyes up and on his own. “You feel so good, Tony,” Peter whispered, his mouth exaggerating every word. 

The pure joy on Tony’s face made Peter’s cock twitch, the feeling of happiness an unknown aphrodisiac with a line straight to his pleasure center. Closing his eyes, Peter let everything wash over him, even the sign for ‘me too’ Tony pressed into the skin of Peter’s chest. 

With Tony starting to thrust, Peter relaxed further and gave his body over to the other’s manipulations. Like all things, Tony moved with what seemed like a never-ending amount of energy. His fingers dug into Peter’s thighs as he held them tightly in his hands, Tony’s grip flexing with every thrust. His lips traced the length of Peter’s neck and clavicle, the slightest suck marks left behind in the most gentlemanly of ways. From the subtle brush of chest hair over peaked nipples, to the friction their bellies created, Peter felt on edge from the very start. 

Little by little, Tony shifted the intensity of his thrusts, his hips rolling and grinding down against Peter’s prostate the second he managed to find it with the tip of his cock. Though Peter was sure he wasn’t conscious of them, Tony’s grunts and moans got louder in pitch with each steadily increasing thrust, the sound like the beautiful music Peter made on a daily basis. 

When it was finally too much to holdout any longer, Peter let his fingers tangle into the hair at the back of Tony’s head, his clenching grip enough to draw Tony’s attention back to Peter’s face. His beautiful hazel eyes took in every miniscule facial expression Peter made as he came apart; every crinkle on his brow, every flare of his nostrils, even the shape of his lips when he finally took that plunge over the edge. Peter managed to get his eyes open just enough to see Tony lose it, too – the magnitude of this sort of vulnerability not lost on Peter a single bit. 

\---- 

The beautiful thing between them continue to bloom as the month’s past. 

Despite living in a life continually filled with noise, Peter loved the silence that came with his place in Tony’s life. After understanding just how important it was to have a direct line of communication with Tony, Peter eagerly started his quest to learn the in’s and out’s of ASL – his teacher one of the best and most knowledgeable on the subject. 

With a good reason to want to learn, Peter took to the language like a duck to water. They stilled verbally communicated pretty frequently, but Peter didn’t feel nearly as lost when Tony started to talk without using his words like he so often did. The signs and little subtleties were becoming a part of his life, each one just as important as the notes he used to create his life’s work. 

Of course, Peter still felt a few reservations throughout their time together. Sometimes, no matter how hard he tried, Tony couldn’t keep up; especially in big groups of people, or around strangers that weren’t familiar with his particular brand of needs. He never went out of his way to let Peter know how he felt, but the obvious lack of Tony’s presence in those conversations could be felt. 

As much as it frustrated Tony, it grated on Peter every now and again, too. It took so much effort to communicate, his old habits of talking fast or not facing Tony coming back without thought – the idea of not being able to send his signal to Tony easily just as frustrating as not being able to receive it.

And when it came to his music, Peter found it the slightest bit sad that Tony couldn’t hear the smooth tones and sounds that came from his instrument. Though he talked often about the way music felt, Peter wanted Tony to hear him – to appreciate the craft the way it was meant to be appreciated. 

One of their evenings together, Peter was practicing in Tony’s front room while his boyfriend worked diligently on his latest commission, the head-down look about him one that Peter recognized pretty easily after so much time together. He warmed up with scales, then brought his first piece of music out of his folder, the familiar notes bringing him a sense of comfort that not a lot of other things could touch (Tony, of course, being the one exception). Playing through the first piece without much thought, Peter was surprised to feel a hand on his shoulder that easily slipped down to palm at his chest. 

Letting the saxophone rest against the side of his thigh, Peter signed swiftly, his ASL so much better now that the two of them spent so much time with each other. “What’s up? Everything okay?” Peter asked, his fingers almost perfectly making each sign. 

Tony smiled softly at him, his cheeks pinching into the adorable little dimple Peter loved so much. 

“Everything’s fine. I just wanted to listen to you play.”

Quirking his head, Peter pointed at the couch – “I’d like that, sit down and I’ll play you something.” 

Without thought, Tony moved closer to him, his hand pressing more firmly against Peter’s chest. “I’ll be able to hear it here.” Tony said aloud, his voice twisting a little in annoyance. “The floor muffles the sound over there. I want to feel it.” 

Unable to stop the small flare of irritation from slipping, Peter shook his head, eyes rolling. “It’s distracting. I can’t play with you standing right there.” Each word was a lie, the both of them more than aware that he could, in fact, play with Tony’s hand pressed against him – they’d even attempted (unsuccessfully) to have Tony’s cheek pressed tightly to his chest. Peter wasn’t sure what made him lash out or say something to hurt – it just fell from his mouth carelessly, without thought. 

The way Tony pulled his hand back, almost as if he’d been burnt, made Peter feel guilty, which inevitably led to him letting more of his temper rear its angry head. “I sometimes wish you could just hear like everyone else. It’d make things so much easier.” 

For the first time in their entire relationship, Peter felt the silence. In the moments between such nasty words leaving his lips and Tony’s reaction, the usually easy absence in noise felt louder than any concert Peter could remember playing. It was palpable, alive in a way that shouted turbulence ahead. 

Then, Tony shifted until they were level with each other, his hands moving stiff, ruthless in their sincerity. He didn’t speak, not like Tony usually did when saying something he wanted to make sure Peter understood. “If it’s so hard to have me in your life, you’re welcome to go. I don’t need this – your lack of understanding. I thought you were different; but you’re just like everyone else.” 

Tony didn’t say anything more, he simply got up and padded quietly into the kitchen where the sound of squeaking markers against paper could be heard just a moment later. 

Knowing how much he fucked up, but still feeling a little bit of that lingering anger, Peter packed his music and saxophone up, leaving Tony’s apartment with no sound at all left behind. 

It took a few days for Peter’s wallowing to get the best of him. 

In the twenty steps it took to get to the elevator from Tony’s door, Peter realized just how shitty his behavior was. In all of their time together, Peter never thought of Tony as a burden or any sort of problem. Instead of turning around like he should’ve, however, Peter walked on, the ding of the elevator like a final note in their piece. He took every step of their attempt to communicate (and do it well) in stride, trying as hard as he knew Tony had to every second to get where they wanted to go together. It wasn’t a problem. It wasn’t. 

Yet, in his anger, Peter let the one thing Tony couldn’t change or help become an obstacle between them when it never was before. He felt frustration towards the hurdle they were always jumping, but never towards Tony – no matter what stupid words came out of his mouth. 

After missing three practices in a row, Peter wasn’t surprised to see one of his fellow orchestra members at his door – the beautiful Natasha Romanov knocked the way she played the cello, primly and without any room for bull shit. Her hand was rhythmic and demanding, the tone telling Peter he shouldn’t even think about ignoring the person on the other side. Bucking up (because he knew she’d never go away if he didn’t), Peter pulled a sweater over his three-day-old t-shirt and answered the door. 

“Parker, you look like shit. Smell kind of like it, too. What the fuck’s going on? It’s not like you to miss rehearsals.” Natasha’s voice was booming, her words loud after so much time intimately wrapped up in Tony’s silence. “Who do I need to beat up?” 

Peter couldn’t help the small smile that overtook his face – despite the guilt and shame hanging so heavily upon his shoulders, it felt good to have someone have his back; even if it wasn’t all that deserved. 

“Me, actually. You should come inside. We’ll need coffee for this conversation.” 

Leading her into his somewhat disordered apartment, Peter set about making coffee before saying anything more. He refreshed the grounds in the French press, then poured them each a piping hot cup of the good stuff, his anxiety lessening ever so slightly with each delightful breath of delectable coffee scent being pulled into his lungs. 

It took him three sips before he felt ready to talk, the heaviness of all the things finally lifting. 

“I’m an asshole, Nat. You’ve met Tony – good, genuine, sincerely lovely Tony. He’s the best thing to ever happen to me and I was… unkind. Incredibly so. I told him it would be easier if he could hear – if he wasn’t who he is. I’ve been too embarrassed to step foot outside of my apartment. Or play. I can’t – not when I made such a mess of things.” 

In her no-nonsense way, Nat took in his words, paused to let them sink in, then slapped him across the back of the head. She looked him down squarely, her eyes unblinking. “You and I both know you deserve that.” Natasha remarked before letting her features soften, a look of understanding settling on her face, instead. “Do you know what I like so much about Tony? Not the fact that he can’t hear, or that he’s incredibly attentive to make up for it – it’s that he listens. Genuinely. Actively. Like it’s the only thing in the world that’s important to him. The barrier he’s had to overcome has made this beautiful openness to connect within him.” 

Patting his hand on the table between them, Nat took another sip of coffee before continuing. Her voice seemed like it was shaking before she stopped, the emotion of her words obviously threatening to overcome her. “With you, I know that’s the case. You, all of you, are the only thing in the world that’s important to him. Peter, it’s like he takes all of you in. Everything that you give to him, he keeps and uses to bridge that gap. I’ve never seen another human smile at someone that way Tony smiles at you. He says so much by saying nothing at all. Because he knows, Pete. He may not be able to hear you in the sense you think he should, but he’s listening.” 

He looked at her blankly for a second before nodding wildly, his eyes wide and open for what felt like the first time. Thinking about it, Peter recalled the many times he turned to see Tony staring at him, an inquisitive, yet affectionate look in his eye. When things were good (which was every day they were together but the last three) they didn’t need any words to communicate what was going on, not really, anyway. Tony spoke to make it easier for Peter, but the closer they got, the easier living in the easy rhythm between them became. 

Jumping out of his seat, Peter looked at Nat gratefully, a genuine smile overtaking his lips. “I don’t know how I let myself not notice that for so long. Thank you, Nat. Thank you.” He grasped her hands tightly before turning to head out the door, Peter only stopping when he realized leaving meant leaving Nat in his house. 

“I’m going to go and hopefully fix this. You’re welcome to stay. I have some of that wine you like in the fridge.” 

Casting a glance over his shoulder before closing the door on his way out, Peter caught the mischievous look on Nat’s face, the cellist wasting no time in her pursuit for his good wine. 

It took 20 blocks and many tireless minutes to get to Tony’s apartment. His timing was atrocious, but there wasn’t any time to spare. Tony deserved an apology, many apologies, and Peter wanted to start making it up to him as quickly as he could. Tony was a forgiving person, but forgiveness only went so far – and things between them were too good to give up; too vital and important to let pettiness and irritation rule over all of his actions and subsequent reactions. 

Not wanting to presume they were still completely okay, Peter decided not to use the key Tony gave him a couple of months ago. Instead, he pressed the doorbell a couple of times, the flashes of it recognizable even outside of the apartment. Waiting with a heavy sense of tension and bated breath, Peter watched shadows dance at the bottom of the door, the sound of Tony’s footsteps just barely audible through the heavy wood. 

It took Peter a second to take Tony in, the man’s presence overwhelming in how good it felt – to just be there, standing in front of him – like heaven. When he allowed himself to truly take Tony in, Peter realized Tony was just as wrecked as him, the usual bags under his eyes deep and purple, the sign of tiredness more like bruises against pale skin. Though he tried to project an air of fineness, Tony looked like shit. 

Before Peter could talk himself out of it, he fumbled to sign his apology, his eyes locked onto Tony’s as he moved his hands. “I fucked up. You’re not a problem. You’re not a hardship. You’re everything. The rest of the world is all talk, but you – you say so much without saying anything; I was just too stupid to take it all in. Too wrapped up in my own shit.” Peter stopped then, his hands moving to cup Tony’s cheeks. Tony hesitated for a moment before leaning into Peter’s touch, the caress like kryptonite. 

“I love you, Tony.” 

Peter searched Tony’s eyes for a moment, the flood of tears at the corner of them confusing and the slightest bit frightening. There wasn’t anything else after this, no plan B or back up – if Tony didn’t want him, that was that. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Tony softened his expression, the feeling of having his mind read enough to make Peter’s head spin. He forced himself to stay in the moment, though, his eyes watching in fascination as Tony moved to reciprocate the phrase, his lips moving without the use of his hands – a totally rare occurrence. 

With a finger to his lips, Peter caught him before he could mumble out the syllables, his other hand wrapping around Tony’s waist, tugging until they were pressed tightly together, a touch of contact between them from chest to toe. Carefully, Peter pulled his hands back and signed instead – 

“You say it best, when you say nothing at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking around, guys! 
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this one (because who doesn't love listening to the same song over and over again????). I hope you guys enjoyed it just as much as I did! 
> 
> As always, you can follow me over on tumblr (ohwereusingourmadeupnames). I'm always taking prompts and making new pals!


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